


The Traveler

by SunflowerSupreme



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo is adorably clueless (until he isnt), Elrond doesn't, Gandalf knows, Gen, now we know where Bilbo gets all his maps of middle earth from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: In which Bilbo makes a friend





	The Traveler

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t think I’ve ever written Bilbo. Weird. 
> 
> And spell check won't stop changing Aiano to Piano so there's that.

The first time he met the minstrel, the elf had been in a sorry state.

Bilbo had only returned from his travels a few years before, but he knew what elves were meant to look like. He’d met more than enough of them, and yet the stranger had been so sickly as to appear almost mortal (Bilbo had thought he was mortal until he’d gotten close enough to see his ears and the shape of his face).

The elf had just looked at him, and almost seemed to flinch away when Bilbo had tried to introduce himself - (“Bilbo Baggins, at your service!”) - so he had hurried back to Bagend. There was one thing that Bilbo knew would crack even the toughest of defenses, so he’d gathered up as much of his best food as he could, and tucked it into a basket before hurrying back to the riverbank (if he’d also tucked Sting into his waistband, it was just because you never knew might be wandering around in the wild).

He wasn’t certain if he should be surprised that the man was still sitting there. He’d looked frightened enough to flee, but also sickly enough that he might not be able to. Bilbo stopped a fair distance away, and called, “Master Elf, I was thinking I might have a picnic and would be honored if you would join me!”

“I am a master of no one, young hobbit,” he had replied, and although his voice was rough from a lack of use, it was still beautiful. "Those who follow me, it seems, come to terrible ends."

“Then whatever shall I call you?” he asked, slightly flustered.

The elf tilted his head, and black hair swung out of his eyes. “Aiano,” he said after a long pause. “That is my name.”

“And Bilbo Baggins is mine,” he replied, opening his picnic basket as he approached. 

Aiano didn’t pull back this time, letting Bilbo spread food on the ground. “Do help yourself!” the Hobbit urged. “The best meal is one that is shared!”

After that, Aiano didn’t hesitate, digging into the food with a vigor that Bilbo had never imagined from an elf.He had bandages wrapped around one hand, and it quickly became evident he could barely use it. But Aiano said nothing about it, and Bilbo was too polite to press the issue.

“This food is marvelous, master hobbit,” he said. “I must thank you for your hospitality, but I fear I have nothing to offer you in return. I am but a wandering minstrel, with nothing save songs and sadness to my name.”

“Nothing save songs?” Bilbo asked, perking immediately, “My friend that is more than enough, I assure you!”

Aiano had seemed rather startled by that announcement, but he had thrown his head back and launched into a song, the likes of which Bilbo had never heard before. It was not in any language that Bilbo spoke, but that did not stop his enjoyment of it, and by the end, he was applauding happily. “Oh I do love it!” he’d gasped, and the tips of Aiano’s ears had turned red.

Despite Bilbo’s offers, Aiano did not stay in the Shire after that, although he promised to return. “I know what that means from an elf,” Bilbo scolded him, “You shall come back in a hundred years and be surprised to find I have turned to dust.”

“Master Hobbit, if you make more of those tarts, I shall be back within the year,” Aiano had replied, a smile gracing his lips for the first time.

Even with his promise, Bilbo was surprised when he stumbled across him several months later, sleeping under a tree. “I have a house you know!” he’d told Aiano, shaking him awake. “You are more than welcome in it!”

“I have been sleeping under the stars for years uncounted, a few more nights will do me no harm,” Aiano had said. 

“Neither would a bath and yet here we are!” Bilbo wrinkled his nose.

Bilbo left him under the tree and returned with more of the promised pastries and to his surprise, Aiano produced a stack of parchments from his bag. “You mentioned when we last met that you had a fondness for maps, so I sought to make these for you.” Aiano watched him carefully unfold them. “I apologize, my hand is not so steady as it once was.” With his good hand, he motioned to the bandages on the other.

But Bilbo hardly noticed, too delighted over his gift, “These are exquisite!” he’d said, shoving more pastries at Aiano in return.

His visits become almost regular occurrences after that, he tended to turn up at least once a year, usually in spring or summer (“I go south in the winter,” he explained).

Bilbo could never remember when he’d first mentioned Elrond, but he hadn’t failed to notice that Aiano always asked if he had any recent word out of any of the Elven kingdoms after that, although he never outright asked about Elrond. When Bilbo mentioned him in a letter, Elrond responded that he may have met him, although he could not remember it. “There are a great many old souls wandering this world, Bilbo,” the Loremaster had written, “and I am afraid even I cannot track them all.” (Elrond had also pointed out that Aiano was most likely not the man’s true name).

When pressed on the matter of his name, Aiano had simply replied, “I am Aiano. A traveler, and nothing more.” He had seemed distressed enough by the questioning that Bilbo didn’t push the question anymore.

“Gandalf is coming for Yule,” Bilbo said during one of their meetings. Aiano raised an eyebrow. “I think you might like him,” Bilbo continued. “He’s queer as all wizards all, but a dear old friend.”

“Old is right,” Aiano said, tapping the fingers of his uninjured hand against his leg. “He is far older than you could imagine, older even than this world.”

“You know him?”

“I met him once, long ago. I was a different man then, and it was a different time and place altogether.”

“Then you must come and see him!” Bilbo had urged, delighting in the idea of reuniting old friends.

Aiano had promised to consider it, but Yuletide that year came and went without any sign of him. When he mentioned it to Gandalf, the wizard had just shaken his head. “He’s a funny fellow, that one. Far more than he seems, I would imagine. It is best you not concern yourself with worries of him.”

Bilbo did eventually coax him into Bag End, although it was only because it was raining and he insisted that he couldn’t have Frodo out in the rain. “And he will be so sorry he missed you!” Aiano, who, it seemed, had a soft spot for Frodo, even more than Bilbo, had relented.

If seeing Gandalf ease himself into Bag End was amusing, watching Aiano, who was several inches taller, attempt the feat was far better. Eventually, he’d given up and simply crawled on his knees.

Aiano had been one of the first that Bilbo had mentioned his desire to leave Hobbiton to, and the man had cheerfully suggested that Bilbo would no doubt enjoy himself. He had, of course, turned down an invitation to Bilbo’s birthday party, but once the Hobbit had set off down the road with his dwarven escort, Aiano had melted out of the trees.

The dwarves had been startled to see him, although to Bilbo’s surprise (and honestly, he shouldn’t have been surprised anymore) they seemed to know him. “I shall not be traveling with you for long,” Aiano said before Bilbo could ask, “but I think I shall come with you for a while.”

Bilbo wasn’t altogether too surprised when Aiano chose to disappear right outside Rivendell. Despite Elrond’s belief that they’d never met, he had a nagging suspicion that they must have.

It wasn’t hard to ask too many questions in Rivendell, and none of the Elves treated it as suspicious (although Erestor had made him promise not to ask Elrond anything overly prying about himself). Before too long, Bilbo was certain that he knew exactly who Aiano was.

He had been stuck between two candidates - Maglor Feanorian or Daeron of Doriath - and had his reasons for both. Either one could have had an interest in Elrond, Maglor because of their history and Daeron because of Elrond’s connection with Luthien.

But once he’d heard that the Silmarils had burned Maglor and his brother, he’d known exactly who he was dealing with (even if he still wasn’t sure what the deal over the Silmarils was, it seemed to him, to be as stupid as the trouble over the Arkenstone, although far deadlier).

Of course, knowing who Aiano was (or, who he most likely was) didn’t change a thing. He still hadn’t seen a sign of the man since arriving in Rivendell, and he was beginning to doubt he’d ever see him again.

Then the whole business with Frodo and the ring had happened, and Bilbo had nearly forgotten about him.

He only remembered again after it was all over when Glorfindel had taken both Bilbo and a still-grieving Elrond out of the valley, insisting that it would be a pleasant trip. Memories of Aiano had come to him as they’d crossed the river, and Bilbo had suddenly said, “Why, this is where I last saw Aiano!” It wasn’t true at all, not if you were talking about the time Aiano had lead him to the Valley, but since he had seen the hem of the elf’s cloak disappearing a corner only moments before, he reasoned that it was true enough.

Elrond had raised an eyebrow, looking around the small clearing. Neither he nor Glorfindel seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. “Then this is where we shall stay,” he’d decided before Glorfindel could argue. “And you can tell me more about this friend of yours.”

“No I shan’t,” Bilbo replied, stomping off toward the woods. “It is time he stopped being such a stubborn fool and told you himself.”

“That, my friend, is like a pot calling a kettle black,” came Aiano’s reply, although he’d dropped his voice several octaves in an attempt to disguise it. 

Perhaps his ruse worked, perhaps Elrond didn’t recall the sound of his voice, or perhaps Bilbo had been wrong about his identity after all, but either way the elf lord only seemed mildly surprised that they had been spied on.

Glorfindel seemed the more upset of the two, muttering about needing to increase patrols if they hadn’t known there was a stranger so close to the valley.

“It is hardly their fault,” Aiano said, still not coming out of the trees. “I sing to them and they forget they’ve ever seen me.” Glorfindel did not appear calmed, quite the opposite in fact.

“Then unless you intend to sing us to oblivion you ought to be ashamed of yourself and come out of that tree!” Bilbo cried.

Aiano sighed a musical sound that carried through the clearing, causing Glorfindel to stiffen and reach for his sword. But no attack, musical or otherwise, came, and Aiano merely dropped out of the tree, landing lightly in front of Bilbo. “Are you pleased now, Master Hobbit?” he’d asked, his silver eyes glimmering under his hood as he knelt to the Hobbit's height.

“I’d be far more pleased if you’d stop with the theatrics and join us,” Bilbo replied reproachfully. “Though I can hardly say what else one could expect of a son of Feanor.” Elrond drew in a sharp intake of breath.

“It does seem to run in the family,” Maglor agreed, pushing back his hood and standing. 

“Kanofinwe!” Elrond gasped, and it was as though he suddenly had no more cares in the world. 

It took a great deal of persuading (and no small amount of angered looks from Glorfindel, who seemed to be offering to stab Maglor if he didn’t give in) but they finally managed to drag the minstrel back to Imladris, although he continually insisted he wouldn’t stay for long. "A few months, perhaps," he'd said.

He was proven a liar, however, and did not leave Elrond’s side until they were standing at the Grey Havens, watching the ship with the Ringbearers depart.

“You know, Kanofinwe,” Gandalf said, his eyes glinting with mischief, “I do believe I’ve quite forgotten to pass on my lord’s message to you.”

“I am not certain I wish to hear it,” Maglor had said, a slight pout crossing his lips, “but I suppose you will tell me either way.”

“The way is open,” was Gandalf’s response, laughing as he turned his back and strode onto the ship. “You have suffered long enough.”

Maglor couldn’t manage an answer, spluttering indignantly about waiting until the last minute, but Elrond had grabbed him and pulled him aboard before he had a chance to argue.

**Author's Note:**

> Aiano - traveler
> 
> I think it’s fair that Elrond didn’t figure out who “Aiano” was because since we know of at least two people who are just wandering around, I think it’s fair that there are a lot more. And I think Bilbo is too polite to write “I met this dude with a fucked up hand” which would have given it away. (I also think Elrond intentionally doesn't get his hopes up)


End file.
